Being the wife of the Pillar on the other hand, meant visibility. It required Wen to accompany her husband to high-profile events, host clan functions, and be photographed. Wen was well aware that every time she appeared at her husband’s side in public, judging eyes settled on her, the petty minds behind them thinking that surely Kaul Hiloshudon, second son of No Peak and Pillar of the clan, could’ve done better for himself than a stone-eye wife, a supposed bastard with a disreputable family name. Pretty enough, perhaps, but there were more beautiful women.
Wen would not allow herself to be Hilo’s weakness, to be exploited or used against the family by anyone inside or outside of No Peak. She took pains to know all the people in the upper echelons of the clan, particularly those who might be resentful of the Maiks’ rapid rise in status. She dressed impeccably; she took care of her body. Her health was very important. She hoped to eventually return to interior design work, but for the next few years, she had greater responsibilities as a wife and mother. The clan was not just people and jade and money. It was an idea, a legacy that connected the past with the present and the future. The family’s strength was a promise. Lan was dead and his son was far away (although Wen hoped that would soon change). Shae was not about to have children any time soon. Kehn and Lina were not yet married, and Wen was not sure what to do about Tar. The Teijes shared blood with the Kauls but were of no consideration. Knowing that her contribution to the clan was crucial and hers alone gave Wen a sense of anticipatory satisfaction even greater than the normal glow of an expectant mother. The baby kicked Wen in the ribs and rolled like a small mountain across her abdomen. The masseuse smiled and said, “Your child is already so athletic, Mrs. Kaul.”
Feeling refreshed after her spa treatments, Wen took a brief dip in the mineral pool, showered, and dressed in soft lounge pants, a tank top, and fleece robe. She went into the teahouse and sat cross-legged at a low table in one of the many screened nooks intended to create a sense of calm and retreat from the bustle of everyday life in the city. Lush potted ferns and broad-leafed plants created a modest indoor garden, and a stone water fountain burbled pleasantly in the background. Most of the other women in the teahouse were older than Wen; some stayed contentedly to themselves with a book or newspaper, others chatted with friends or played circle chess or cards. Wen ordered a sesame pastry and a glass of chilled spiced tea with lemon. The server, a plump, grandmotherly woman, smiled knowingly at Wen and brought her the entire lemon, cut into delicate wedges on a small white dish. Superstition held that sucking the juice of an entire lemon each day guaranteed a masculine child. So did taking daily walks at dawn (dusk for a female child), eating spicy food, and conceiving on designated lucky days (as determined by fortune charts cross-referencing the birthdates of the father and mother). Wen was not the superstitious sort—what was the point when one was already a stone-eye?—and she left praying to the gods to her sister-in-law, but she smiled and thanked the woman anyway, waiting until she was gone to dispose of the lemon in a nearby planter. The sex of the baby was already set; why sour her mouth for nothing?
A slight woman of about the same age as Wen approached and glanced around nervously before sitting down at the table. Wen said in a low voice of concern, “How have you been, Mila? How’s your daughter?” The woman looked away, tugging at her long sleeves. Wen was struck with pity for her.
Mila said in a mumble, “I’ve sent her to stay at a friend’s house for a few days.”
“That’s good,” Wen said gently. “You’re doing everything you can to keep her safe. That’s all a mother can do.” When Mila rubbed her eyes and nodded, Wen said, “What do you have?”
The woman removed a manila envelope from her handbag and passed it under the table to Wen, who tucked it into her own tote bag without looking at it. Mila twisted her hands together in her lap and said in a hurry, “The new Weather Man, Iwe Kalundo, took over the office last week. He’s been busy holding one-on-one meetings with all the top Lantern Men in the clan. I saw his schedule for the whole month lying open on his secretary’s desk and made a photocopy of it.”
“Thank you.” Wen slid Mila an unmarked envelope of cash, which vanished quickly into the woman’s purse. Akul Min Mila worked as a low-level department secretary in the Weather Man’s office of the Mountain clan, also located in the Financial District, five kilometers north of Kaul Shae’s office on Ship Street. She was married to a violent drunk who regularly beat her and their eight-year-old daughter. Her husband came from a well-connected family within the Mountain; Mila feared retribution if she told anyone within the clan. She was secretly saving up the money that No Peak paid her for the information she stole from the office so she could take her daughter and run away to her only relatives, who lived in Toshon, all the way in the south of the country.
As the rat stood up to go, Wen said, “Mila, don’t rush or take unnecessary risks. You’ve survived this long already; make sure that when you leave for good, there’s no suspicion.”
The woman hesitated, biting her lip and looking at Wen with a sort of cornered gratitude. Then she nodded, turned away, and left. Mila was not very knowledgeable about the Mountain’s business and did not always know what to look for, copying whatever she saw lying around when the opportunity arose. Some of what she gave to Wen was useful, much of it was not, but she was motivated. Wen was cautiously optimistic this time; the detailed meeting schedule of Ayt Mada’s new Weather Man would shed light on the Mountain’s business priorities and biggest constituents.
Wen sipped her spiced tea and rubbed her swollen feet. Over the past year, she and Kaul Shae had found and cultivated a handful of informers. It was as Hilo had said to Kehn and Tar at the dinner table: No Peak needed rats everywhere, not only on the street, and not only on the Horn’s side. The women’s bathhouse was perhaps the most invisible place in the city for Wen to meet spies; she rarely saw Green Bones here, and those she did see—stressed young women needing a break from keeping up with their male peers—had their facials or massages and left without lingering in the teahouse. The owners were well aware that they were located on a territorial border and had absolutely nothing to gain from betraying either clan and risking their advantageous status as a business of no disputable importance. And while the Weather Man of No Peak could not spend a suspiciously large number of hours receiving spa services, no one batted an eye at the indulgences of the Pillar’s wife.
Wen had considered telling Hilo what she was doing. Perhaps it would prove to him that she was serious and capable of being fully involved in the clan’s matters, and even if he did not approve on principle, he would have to see the enormous usefulness of her actions and come over to her thinking. Hilo was accepting of people as they were; he had never once made her feel shame for her parents’ well-known disgrace across both major clans, her rumored illegitimacy, or her condition as a stone-eye. For that, she loved him ferociously. She hated to keep secrets from him. But for Kaul Hilo, there was a stark division in the world that determined a person’s duties and destiny—a line drawn with jade.
When she became pregnant, Wen reluctantly came to the conclusion that her husband would not condone even the minimal risk she was taking by meeting informers in the Celestial Radiance. In addition, being honest with Hilo would mean exposing Shae’s orchestration, and the Weather Man was entitled to the secrecy of her methods and sources of information. As long as Hilo thought his wife’s bathhouse visits were simply innocuous pampering and good for her health and that of the baby, he would see no reason to prevent them. The potential value of what she and Shae might learn about the clan’s enemies was more important than Wen’s peace of mind, and the relationship between the Pillar and the Weather Man could not be risked. The family’s survival depended on it. The Pillar was the master of the clan, the spine of the body, but a spine that was not well supported would sag and break. Wen’s late brother-in-law, Kaul Lan, had been a good Pillar, but dragged down by a senile grandfather, a treacherous Weather Man, and a faithless wife. He’d tried too hard to carry the clan on his own, hadn’t claimed help when he should have, had kept his sister and his cousin out of the clan at the time he needed them the most. He’d made every effort to be strong, and it had made him weak. Wen would not let that happen to her own husband.